The Specs and Co in Auldrant!
by SpecstacularSC
Summary: Eight immortal psychopaths go on a totally innocent adventure in Auldrant, much to Auldrant's detriment.
1. Prologue

Prologue - The Specs and Co.'s New Adventure! (God Help Us All.)

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><p><em>Bifocals' Lab<em>

_Pocket dimension inside SC's house_

_Roughly somewhere around noon_

* * *

><p>"So, he's not gonna come with us?" Glasses asked, trying to untangle her short brown hair from a drill she had been messing with. Her glasses were crooked on her face, lenses broken, and one cheek was bruised from where the drill had repeatedly smacked her after catching her hair in the bit and suddenly slipping out of her grip before she could turn it off.<p>

"Nope. He said this was the first time in three years that he's been able to get us out of his house for more than a few minutes without the possibility of backlash against him, so he's just gonna let us fuckers do our own thing," Specs - the de facto leader of the Specs and Co. - replied with a shrug, scratching an itch in his own short brown hair, his other hand draped lazily over the hilt of his Kewl Sward. The look on his face indicated that the very obvious insult in SC's response to the Co.'s offer of adventure fun-times had flown clear over his head. As most things had a tendency to do unless he was paying attention, that is.

"Eh, his loss. I'd have put some serious consideration into sharing all the sick-ass loot with him," Contacts said, sliding his knives into their respective sheathes and adjusting the straps on his tech- and normal-arrow quivers.

"The fuck you would," Shades scoffed, checking to see that her guns were all loaded. All seven hundred and eighty-three thousand of them, which she stashed in Bifocals' lab in the pocket dimension so that the authorities wouldn't be called on her for having them hanging from the walls (and ceiling, as a sort of gun-lover's mobile). "You would've only considered sharing after you'd already been caught trying to make off with it all, you filthy liar."

"No, I would have absolutely offered to share first! And _then_ I would have tried to make off with it all," Contacts rebutted, folding his bow and stashing it in his vest's deep inner pocket. Its shape could just barely be made out through the heavy fabric to the attentive eye.

"Whatever you say, kid," Shades mumbled, flicking the safety off to let the slide shut on the pistol she was holding.

"Whatever he says is probably a load of bullshit, given that it's coming from Thief-Bitch," Sports Shades chuckled, sitting on a table hunched over due to the enormous stylized dadao on his back. It was a straight-bladed, single-edged behemoth with a trio of gold rings near the hilt guard for flair, and an engraving of a Lung dragon along the flat of the blade. In order for it to be drawn easily over his head, as it stood about as long as Sports Shades was tall, the back-"sheathe" it was sitting in was little more than a couple of large metal brackets that tightly held a box in place, open at one end to both keep the blade safe from the elements and allow Sports Shades to swing it out of the case instead of drawing it out like a regular sword. Because the stupid jerk just HAD to be the coolest-looking one in the group, and he wasn't about to let the fact that longswords were impractical to carry anywhere but in one's hands at all times stop him from achieving this goal.

"Hey, screw off, nobody asked you," Contacts snapped.

"Good, because I don't need your acknowledgement to voice my opinion anyhow," Sports Shades replied, his cocky grin never wavering for a second. "That would only be an insult to me, and like hell I'm gonna allow that."

Book Specs, who had been sitting in a chair nearby Specs, looked up from his book and adjusted his glasses with a glare at Sports Shades. Book Specs had decided a long time ago that his words of wisdom were only wasted on his... "companions," and so he had spent a considerable amount of time developing a way to communicate without speaking. The message he was trying to convey at this instance was-

"He says that's pretty rich, given that you allow it all the time," Glasses translated, finally freeing her hair from the accursed bastard drill that ensnared her. She then took the drill, threw it on the floor, and smashed it with her battle axe - easily twice the size of Sports Shades' , and yet the slender young woman in a white tank top, blue jean short-shorts, and black converse sneakers was able to heft it like it was nothing. Although, this was in part to due with her paranormal strength taking over for her.

The smash rang out through the lab, silencing everybody in fear, as Bifocals - the lab's owner, and the insane German engineer responsible for building all the deadly weaponry, android warframes, vehicles and what-have-you that the Specs and Co. ever needed - looked up from a droid she was tinkering on, eye twitching in evident rage behind her glasses. Her pale skin began to turn a dangerous shade of red, and one could have sworn that devil horns were protruding from her long, blonde hair.

Everybody in the room dove for cover. To break anything of Bifocals' was to call Hell upon the Earth, and they had no intention of being caught in the blast zone.

Glasses turned and looked at the wrench-wielding woman timidly and chuckled in terror.

"_Du Schlampe!_" Bifocals screamed, hefting a revolving, six-barreled, hand-held laser cannon that was laying on the table next to the droid and firing it straight at Glasses' head. As lasers moved at the speed of light, Glasses didn't have a prayer, and all that remained of her body were the a pair of charred handprints on the shaft of her axe, now embedded in the floor.

Bifocals glared at the burn mark where Glasses used to be and gave a curt, victorious nod, setting the gun down and brushing the bits of ashes and scorched fabric off her blue sweater and brown skirt.

Mere seconds later, a bright light appeared in the room, and with a -_pop!_-, it materialized into Glasses, born anew. And, inexplicably, fully clothed, glasses and all.

"So, what have we learned today?" Contacts asked, peeking out from behind a crate of laser rifles.

"It was just a damn drill! I didn't think that would offend her, she bought the stupid thing at Home Depot!" Glasses replied indignantly.

"It cost me forty-five dollars! Forty-five dollars that I will never have again!" Bifocals snapped, her accent heavy in her words.

Contacts pulled out a (stolen) wallet and tossed forty-five dollars of the eighty that were in it at Bifocals.

"...Oh," Bifocals quipped, blinking at the money.

"Right, so no more breaking Bifocals' shit," Sports Shades said, hopping back onto the table that he had totally not ducked under because he wasn't some coward like the rest of those jerks.

"BUT I HAVE ALREADY DISMANTLED THREE OF THE INVENTOR-WOMAN-CREATURE'S BATTLE MACHINES," Monocle, the alien war-prince from the planet Eldra, bellowed. He always did so, as he had no concept of an inside voice, amongst other things. (Like women. Women did not exist on Monocle's home world. Children were born from the blood of their slain elders.)

"You _WHAT?!_" Bifocals screeched, her rage coming back to her.

"Everybody duck again," Contacts said in a dead monotone.

* * *

><p>What happened to Monocle was highly unspeakable, but in a matter of moments, Bifocals' maid-droids had more or less cleaned and sanitized the area where the carnage had spread. Monocle, reborn from the grave, sat cowering in a corner as far from Bifocals as he could possibly get.<p>

"Right, so like I said, no more breaking Bifocals' shit," Sports Shades repeated, tipping his shades down and glaring over them at Monocle.

"Should we get moving at some point? I feel like we're just wasting the day in here," Specs sighed.

Book Specs looked over at Specs and adjusted his glasses with an educational look in his eye.

"He says we've actually only wasted a couple of seconds, since time has no meaning in this pocket dimension," Glasses translated.

"Oh. Well, still, we're probably all set to go, right?" Specs asked.

The Co. nodded and muttered in general agreement.

"Right, Bifocals! Fire up that portal-thing!" Contacts ordered.

"...It is a space-time wormhole generator," Bifocals said flatly.

"Right, the portal-thing!" Contacts repeated.

"..._Warum muss ich hängen mit Ihnen die Menschen, wieder?_" Bifocals muttered, inputting the coordinates to the designated adventure place on the space-time wormhole generator's computer.

The machine hummed ominously, and a portal twisted into existence within the magnetic confining field, tearing asunder the fabrics of reality therein. If one looked hard enough, they could briefly see a small dot at the very far end of the portal, which was in fact the destination, several billions of miles away, yet close enough to touch with one finger at the same time. If you didn't have any particular interest in keeping that finger, that is.

"Alright, so do we need to know anything before we go through?" Specs asked over the noise.

Bifocals turned to see the mercenary standing right next to her, and before her brain could lock down her emotions and provide a response, her heart fluttered, and her vision turned misty at the sight of her secret love interest. Reduced to little more than a babbling, blushing mess, Bifocals could only cry out, "No!" in response to Specs' question.

"Cool! Me first!" Specs said with all the giddy glee of a child, jumping headlong into the portal. His body twisted and stretched in ways no human frame ever should, before disappearing with a flash entirely.

One by one, the rest of the Co. followed suit, with Monocle taking wide steps around Bifocals as he entered, until only Bifocals remained.

"...Oh no. I did not tell him about the seventy-five percent chance of having all his limbs ripped off in transit by the sheer force of shifting gravitational strengths!" Bifocals realized in horror. Shaking her head, she went and put on a special safety suit before she jumped in.

The last words to echo through the lab were, "I am sure they are all fine, I am sure they are all fine, I am sure they are all fine..."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One - Nice Landing, Jackasses.

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><p><em>Auldrant<em>

_Northern Rugnica region; Malkuth territory_

_Near the Grocer's Hamlet of Engeve_

_Lunaday, Rem-Decan 24, ND2018_

* * *

><p>Bifocals popped out of the wormhole, her safety suit entirely shredded away. All that remained was the buckled and dented helmet that was part of the uniform, which Bifocals had to cut off carefully in order to free her head.<p>

When her vision cleared and adjusted to the Auldrant daylight, Bifocals gasped in horror at the grisly scene before her:

Everybody else had been ripped limb from limb, their equipment scattered everywhere.

Before Bifocals could properly freak out over the casualties of her folly, seven points of light appeared and materialized into the rest of the Co., reborn, with all their equipment and clothing intact.

"Holy shit! That was fucking terrible!" Contacts gasped, dropping shakily to his knees.

"I thought you said the bloody thing was safe?!" Shades shouted, grabbing Bifocals by the sweater and shaking her roughly.

"Ah, ease up on her. She was too busy making eyes at Specs to think straight," Glasses said with a cheeky grin, apparently unfazed by her second untimely death in as many minutes.

"Huh? What? No, she was just nervous about the machine working right or not," Specs said. If one listened closely, they could hear Bifocals' painfully obvious romantic interest in him whistling as it sailed through the air over his head.

"How in the actual hell can you be so clueless?" Sports Shades asked, pinching the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb.

"Clueless about what?" Specs asked.

Book Specs could only shake his head and smack his forehead with his open palm.

"CLUELESS ABOUT THE INVENTOR-WOMAN-CREATURE'S PAINFULLY-CLEAR LUST FOR YOU, YOU FOOL-MINDED WHELP!" Monocle bellowed, adjusting his monocle back over his eye.

"You guys keep saying that, but I'm pretty sure she's just a bit shy around me, is all," Specs said.

"After living in the same house as you for the last _two and a half years?!_" Contacts exclaimed.

"I mean, it took you several months to lighten up around me," Specs stated.

"Months! Several months! Not years! What is _wrong_ with you?!" Contacts demanded.

"He's an idiot, what do you think is wrong with him?" Sports Shades chuckled.

"How did this change from everybody being mad at me to everybody commenting on the multiple issues with Specs' mental capacity?" Bifocals asked quietly, still clutched in Shades' grip.

"Oh, right, that. _I THOUGHT YOU SAID THE BLOODY THING WAS SAFE?!_" Shades screamed, shaking Bifocals twice as hard.

"I meant to tell you that there was a seventy-five percent chance of grievous bodily harm!" Bifocals whimpered.

"That one time where I wish I was the other twenty-five percent, huh?" Sports Shades asked, nudging Specs.

"Yeah, usually the other twenty-five percent is worse, what's up with that?" Specs asked.

"So, I hate to break up the party, but did anybody else notice that quaint-looking little town over there?" Glasses asked, pointing off to her left.

The others turned and saw that there was a small farming village literally ten minutes' walking time from where they were.

"...How did they not notice us all exploding out into reality in a million pieces?" Contacts wondered.

"I don't know, and also don't care. I'm kinda beat after getting ripped apart twice in the same day, so I'm thinking we should see if they've got any free beds they're willing to let us crash in for a few hours," Glasses replied.

Sports Shades ran a hand through his messy blonde hair and shrugged. "What the hell. If worse come to worse, we can always just kill all the residents and take their huts for ourselves.

"I... do _not_ endorse that idea," Specs objected.

"Yeah, no, me either," Shades agreed.

Book Specs shook his head vigorously.

"Spoilsports," Sports Shades mumbled as the group started walking towards the village.

* * *

><p><em>Grocer's Hamlet of Engeve<em>

_Northern Rugnica; Malkuth Territory_

_Lunaday, Rem-Decan 24, ND2018_

* * *

><p>Engeve was a quiet little town, full of friendly folks and ripe with the smells of manure and crushed wheat, amongst other things. The only other sounds that were heard was the pleasant conversations going on between the residents and the local produce salesmen -<p>

And the grumpy grumblings of the crowd outside the inn.

Amongst the group were a pair of sore thumbs - one, a red-haired kid in white who had a fairly bad attitude by the looks of him, and the other, a pretty brunette in a dark uniform who was trying to mediate the growing tension between the crowd and her erstwhile companion. Shoutings from the boy in white and a produce salesman seemed to indicate that there was some thievery going about involving food.

"Hey, and for once it wasn't Thief-Bitch's fault, eh?" Sports Shades said, bumping Contacts in the back.

"Can it, asshole, that ain't my jive," Contacts replied.

Unfortunately, the crowd heard the banter between the two, and their hostile collective gaze turned on the Specs and Co.

"So, you had accomplices with you, huh?! Figured you would, that was an awful lot of food for you to move by yourself, you thief!" One of the men exclaimed.

"What?! I don't even know these weirdos! And I'm not a damn thief!" Red objected.

"_Weirdos?_ Sheesh, rude much? It takes me a long time to get my hair this good-looking each day, I don't need some little creep calling me names, alright?" Sports Shades said, smirking at Red.

"What did you call me?!" Red snarled.

"Dude, we are literally meat before a pack of wolves right now, do you really want to go pissing them off worse with your ego trips?" Specs hissed, hoping he wouldn't be noticed.

"Oh, come on. What are they gonna do, drag us to the authorities?" Sports Shades asked.

* * *

><p>Rose turned to the door as an angry crowd of her fellow villagers burst in, dragging a rag-tag group of young men and women into the building with them, the villagers carrying their respective weaponry. One, a red-haired boy, they even kicked in the rear, knocking him off balance and onto his face.<p>

"Huh. They actually dragged us to the authorities. I uh... I didn't see that coming. I legitimately did not," one of the people, a tall, tan, blonde and rather attractive man in sunshades, remarked.

Another man, shorter, with dark hair, large rectangular glasses and a fur-lined sword sheathe about his waist, glared at the wall opposite his companion behind him and growled under his breath.

"Rose, we've got trouble!" One of the men shouted.

"Hush! We've got an important guest from the military here. Calm down!" Rose ordered, coming around the table to face the crowd.

"How can we be calm?! We caught him! We caught the guy stealing food! And his accomplices, to boot!" The man said, hoisting Red up by the back of his shirt.

"I'm telling you, it wasn't me!" Red claimed, dangling helplessly from the man's grip. His lady-friend stood off to the side, holding his sword for him, apparently not part of the culprit list - that, or nobody wanted to manhandle her like everybody else.

"Yeah, and I only work with these little shits, or else I do it alone! I wouldn't spend two seconds on a job with loud-ass, there," the other blonde boy, shorter and lighter-skinned, decked out in green and grey added, nodding at Red.

"Okay, for real, right now? We're being accused of a crime we had no part in, and you're incriminating yourself worse by confirming that your day job is thievery?" A somewhat-provocatively dressed young woman with a baldric belonging to an unsightly axe strapped across her back snapped, glaring daggers at the now-confirmed thief.

"Yeah, but I don't steal food! That's low-ball garbage! I only take cash and valuable treasures, damn it!" thief-boy said, apparently failing to catch the not-so-subtle hint from axe-girl.

"...Why do I hang out with you people?" A dark-clad, dark-haired individual whom Rose had initially thought to be a man, but instead confirmed herself to be a woman, muttered. There was a very slight accent to her quiet voice, and any emotion to her face had to be implied more than anything else, as her eyes were obscured entirely by light-blocking sunshades.

It was then that the brown-haired swordsman's attention was drawn to a picture on the wall, and he finally noticed the long-haired, military uniform-clad gentleman by the table, idly sipping tea as though he wasn't aware of the commotion in front of him.

"We overheard these guys making jokes about the thievery, too! They must be the culprits if they can crack wise about something that serious!" Another man stated.

"Yeah, I crack jokes at all kinds of stupid shit, that doesn't make me a criminal. It just makes me an asshole," the tall blonde explained with a smirk.

"Rose, these guys may be with the Dark Wings!" The first man surmised.

"They've got to be responsible for all the food being stolen lately!" Yet another man claimed.

"The Dark Wings? _Those_ are the thieves you think we are? Shit, I could come up with a better name than that in, I dunno, two minutes? Three if I'm working slowly?" The thief scoffed.

"I'd give it about four, if other people are bugging you at the time with their ideas." The dark-clad woman's voice couldn't have gotten more monotone if she had tried.

Right, four tops if I'm being harassed about it," the thief confirmed.

Red shook himself free of the first man's grip and angrily stated, "I'm telling you people, I'm not your damn thief! Do I _look_ like I'm going hungry to you?!"

"Well, given the general leanness of your-" the sole blonde woman started, her accent far heavier than the dark-clad woman's.

"Uh, I think that might have been rhetorical," the dark-haired swordsman said.

"O-oh, yes, of course," the woman replied quietly, blushing as all eyes turned to her.

"My my, what lively people you all are. Let's all just settle down first, alright?" Rose said, gesturing with her hands to lower the volume.

The military man finally made his presence known, as he walked over to Red.

"Yes, please do," he said simply, looking over Red's shoulder.

Rose looked over at the man curiously. "Colonel..."

Red turned his sneer on the Colonel, who handed his tea over to Rose. "Who the hell are you?" He demanded.

"I'm Colonel Jade Curtiss, Third Division, Malkuth Imperial Forces. And who might you be?" Jade asked in return.

Red turned to face Jade. "Luke. Luke fon-"

"Luke!"

Luke's lady-friend grabbed his arm and dragged him aside. For a moment, the two whispered to each other, until Jade finally spoke up again:

"Is something wrong?"

The lady shoved Luke aside (and back onto his face, which elicited a chuckle from the tall blonde), and turned to Jade.

"My apologies, Colonel. He's Luke. I'm Tear," Tear replied, gesturing to Luke and herself in turn. "We were headed for Chesadonia, but we boarded the wrong coach and wound up here."

"Oh? So you're with this man suspected of being with the Dark Wings?" Jade inquired.

"That's still a stupid name," the thief muttered.

We're not with the Dark Wings," Tear replied. "The Malkuth military forced the real Dark Wings to the other side of Rotelro Bridge."

"Ah, I see. So you were on that coach from earlier," Jade realized.

"Wow, we missed a fucking party, huh?" the tall blonde said, nudging the dark-haired swordsman.

"DAMN IT ALL, WHY AM I ALWAYS EXCLUDED FROM GLORIOUS BLOODSHED?!" The third swordsman - assuming the monstrous slab of steel being dragged by four villagers was, indeed, a sword - with white hair in a tight ponytail near to his ankles, muscular and scar-riddled, and easily the largest man in the room out of all present, bellowed, startling everybody.

"Shit, Monocle, would you mind not doing that in my ear?!" The tall blonde snapped.

"THIS IS HOW I SPEAK IN ALL PLACES, AT ALL TIMES! LEARN TO DEAL WITH IT, YOU WEAK BITCH!" Monocle bellowed again.

"Can somebody give me my sword? I can shut this guy up easy if I've got something sharp to beat him with," the tall blonde said.

"And you all would be?" Jade asked unsteadily, gesturing to the Specs and Co. as he tried to slow his heartbeat back to a normal pace.

"Uh, well, I'm Specs," the brown-haired swordsman said, gesturing to himself. "The thief next to me is Contacts, the really quiet one is Book Specs - we call him Booky - the blonde girl is Bifocals, the dark and moody girl is Shades, the axe-wielding girl is Glasses, that blonde loudmouth behind me is Sports Shades - we call him Sportsy - and the _really_ tall guy who can't talk without screaming is Monocle." Specs pointed at each person in turn. "And before you ask, those are in fact our real names. I couldn't make it up if I tried, and I'm not much good at making shit up, so I don't usually try."

"And how might you all be related to this case?" Jade inquired further.

"We literally just got here, and Sportsy popped off with an inappropriate joke at an inconvenient time. This whole food thieving thing? We had no part of it. We were just traveling through the area, looking for some crazy adventure to go on because that's a thing we like to do for fun, and we were tired after an incident with some monsters just outside of town, so we were hoping that we could be flies on the wall and find a place to crash for the night here in town - although, now that at least one of our secrets is out, I think it would be better if we didn't bother asking," Specs explained.

"I see," Jade said.

"What is all this about, Colonel?" Rose asked.

Jade turned to Rose and replied, "Just as Tear said, a group of bandits thought to be the Dark Wings fled toward Kimlasca. Based on their separate testimonies, I can assure you that these people are not with them, nor are they affiliated with each other."

"They don't appear to be mere food thieves, either," a new, feminine-sounding voice piped up from the door.

The crowd looked behind them and parted to reveal a boy (much to Specs' surprise), dressed in robes that denoted a person of high status.

"Fon Master Ion..." Jade said, an inquisitive tone in his voice.

"I was a bit curious, so I investigated the food storehouse," Ion explained. "I found this in a corner of the room," he continued, producing a patch of fur from his right hand. He walked over to Rose and handed the fur to her.

Rose's eyes widened. "This fur is from a sacred cheagle," she gasped.

"Yes. A cheagle is what probably raided your food stores," Ion said.

Luke whirled on the villagers, who were all awkwardly shifting their feet and trying to look anywhere but at their now confirmed innocent prisoners. "See! I told you I wasn't a thief!" He sneered.

"But you did eat that apple before paying. You need to learn not to do things that will make you look suspicious," Tear cautioned.

"How was I supposed to know? I didn't know I had to pay." Luke objected.

Book Specs blinked once and adjusted his glasses in confusion.

"He's asking what world you live in that you don't know that you have to pay for things," Glasses translated.

"Hey, shut up! You don't even know me, who are you to judge?!" Luke snapped.

Book Specs scoffed and adjusted his glasses with a flat glare.

"He says, nor would he want to, considering your high-and-mighty bullshit attitude," Glasses translated again. She looked back as Book Specs adjusted his glasses again, and added, "Especially since he had to deal with idiot nobles in a previous life, and that experience was terrible enough on its own."

"Why you-!" Luke said, grabbing his sword from Tear.

Before he take a swing at Book Specs, however, Book Specs swiped his staff from the villager who had confiscated it and brought it down hard on Luke's head.

"What the hell...?! That felt like a boulder!" Luke grunted, recoiling in pain and clutching his aching head.

"Yeah, he has that effect on people," Specs sympathized, rubbing the many unseen scars on his own cranium.

Book Specs, with a look of accomplishment, returned to his book.

"Does your friend have some form of speech impediment that prevents him from vocalizing his thoughts?" Jade asked.

"No, Book Specs just doesn't like to talk. He thinks his words would just be wasted on his peers, so he communicates through his own method of sign language," Sports Shades said, leaning against the doorframe.

Tear's calm look momentarily intensified in insult, but she was quick to smooth herself back out again. Luke, thoroughly cowed from Book Specs' attack, simply resorted to growling at the quiet book-reader.

"...I see. Well, forgive me for being a waste of your words then," Jade said with an amused smirk.

Book Specs rolled his eyes and continued reading.

Contacts, meanwhile, was struggling mightily to stifle a laugh. When Jade, Ion, Luke and Tear finally turned their gaze to the thief, Specs roughly elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up.

"Sorry, he's kind of a prick," Specs said.

"That could be said for all of us in some way or another," Glasses mused.

"Yeah, but Contacts especially so," Specs replied.

"I can't help it, alright? Cheagle is such a stupid-sounding name..." Contacts gasped in between giggles.

"What did you just-!" One of the villagers made towards Contacts, seeing red.

Shades stepped in front of the man and pushed him back gently.

"Lay off, mate. Even if I _did_ let you after him, he's a professional escape artist. You'd probably end up punching yourself before you ever landed a hit on him," she explained. "Plus, Fon Master Ion is in the room. You really don't want to cause trouble in his presence, do you?"

"You know who Fon Master Ion is?" Specs asked./p

"No, but I assume he's important, what with that whole 'Fon Master' moniker and all," Shades replied.

The whole room (sans Luke and the rest of the Co.) seemed shocked at this admission.

Fon Master Ion is-" Tear started.

"Okay, sweetheart? I didn't ask, and if I ever decide that I want to know, I'll find out for myself. Right? Thank you," Shades cut in, dismissing Tear's attempt in an instant.

Tear's expression turned stoney, and she looked decidedly unimpressed with Shades' response.

"Wow, should I call the power company about that shut down?" Contacts asked.

"It goes like this: I got higher than average grades in school, am quite able to read a book without assistance, and my previous job required me to be able to take in a lot of information and know how to read between the lines in order to stop criminals from running rampant through the streets with their crimes unpunished. I don't like having people trying to educate me, when evidence shows that I'm perfectly well off without their help," Shades replied. "Call me a bitch if you like, I just prefer to do things my own way."

Rose cleared her throat politely to get everybody's attention again. She didn't seem to be all that badly bothered by what was going on, which Specs was impressed to see. Normally, by the time Booky's disdain towards communicating with others was put out in the open, most people would be chomping at the bit to get a shot in at the Co.

"Well, sounds like that takes care of that. I think you all have something to say to these poor people?" Rose suggested to the villagers.

One of the villagers, a man named Kelly, stepped forward meekly and hung his head. "...I'm sorry. With all the burglaries lately, I've been a little on edge."

"Sorry for accusing you," another of the villagers said.

"I'm sorry I made the situation worse," a third villager said.

"Ah, don't worry about it. We get wrapped up in big misunderstandings all the time, it's just terrible luck on our end," Specs replied, a friendly smile on his face.

"Approximately seventy-three-point-twenty percent of the time, calculated to the nearest decimal," Bifocals clarified.

WE ARE UNMATCHED IN THE ARENA OF POOR TIMING," Monocle bellowed, startling everybody again.

"And _you're_ unmatched in the arena of deafening everybody," Shades griped, holding her left ear.

Rose calmed herself down, then looked over at Luke. "Do you think you could forgive them, boy?" She asked.

"I'm not a boy," Luke grumbled, standing back up.

"I'm sorry. Luke, could we let bygones be bygones?" Rose asked again.

"...Yeah, whatever," Luke said, though it was clear that he still had a chip on his shoulder over the whole ordeal. Especially where Booky and Contacts were concerned, as he glared heavily at the thief, who smirked back at him challengingly, and the quiet boy, who was pointedly ignoring everybody.

"Glad to hear it. Now, I have business with the Colonel," Rose informed everybody, motioning to the door. "I'll think of a way to stop the cheagles, so all of you just go on home for today." She turned to the Specs and Co., and added, "If you still need a place to rest for the night, the inn is open to you."

"That's nice of you, but I really do think that at this point, we'd only be more trouble for you than we're worth, so I think we'll just decline for now," Specs said. "We have camping gear, it's not a huge deal."

Rose nodded to the group, and they all departed with a polite farewell (well... Specs, Glasses and Bifocals did. Everybody else just left without another word), then proceeded to leave Engeve and return to the open field they had appeared in.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two - Arrested Again

* * *

><p><em>Auldrant<em>

_Northern Rugnica; Malkuth territory_

_Designated camping spot; near the Grocer's Hamlet of Engeve_

_Lunaday, Rem-Decan 24, ND2018_

* * *

><p>Eight small tents were pitched around a stone fire pit, with fold-up seats positioned facing the campfire. Around each tent was everybody's gear, usually with their weapons laid haphazardly on top of each other or otherwise improperly stored for the night's rest. The sole exception to this was Specs, who had set up multiple racks for his many, many swords, and carefully placed each one in a slot big enough to hold it, with their sheathes tightly secured around each blade. He was so over the top about maintaining the integrity of each blade that he even went as far as to put fabric covers over each hilt in case the weather turned foul in the night. As if it weren't bad enough that he was so anal about his swords, the man had also tied a camouflaged tarp over his tent, with metal plated bolted on the undersides, so that in the event that the camp came under fire, his tent wouldn't come collapsing in on him in a fiery heap.<p>

Clearly, Specs' days as a mercenary tactician and apprentice swordsmith had taken a toll on him.

"I swear, if the guy had decked out his tent any harder, there'd be a mobile command center in the damn thing," Contacts said incredulously. "Hell, there probably _is_, knowing his history.

"Speaking of which, where is Specs right now?" Glasses asked.

"He said he was going to head back into town to see if there were any weapon merchants selling cool swords," Shades replied. "It's why he took all his swords out of his head and left them here, he doesn't want to botch a good sale by being stupid and annoying the merchant into jumping the price on him."

"Of course he would. Why wouldn't he? It's what he's done for the last two and a half years that I've known him," Glasses sighed.

"Crazy sword nut that he is," Contacts agreed, poking the fire with a stick to try and boost the speed that the flames lit the fresh piece of wood he had just thrown in the pit.

"Well, even if he did find a weapon merchant, I doubt the guy would be plying so many wares that it should be taking him so long to get back, don't you think?" Shades remarked.

"It's Specs. He's probably two seconds from making love to the sword with the merchant in the room," Sports Shades said, flopping ungracefully into his seat, with a highly indecent magazine tucked under one arm.

"Oh, dude, gross, I didn't need that visual," Contacts groaned, squinting his eyes shut in disgust.

Bifocals blushed at the thought of Specs doing unspeakable things with a sword, and then winced as she fully realized the implications that came with such an idea. "Perhaps he should reconsider his choice of activity?" She suggested.

"Oh come on, I'm fairly certain Specs is at least smart enough to know that the sharp ouchie-thing doesn't go up the woohoo zone," Glasses replied, and after a second to take in what she had just said, she began to giggle maniacally.

"Uh, I would certainly hope I possess the intelligence enough to know that, myself," Specs said as he walked up on the camp. "So, why might we be talking about me engaging in sexual relations with swords, again?" He asked, eyebrow raised in tentative amusement.

"Oh, hey, you're finally back. What the hell, you've only got the one sword? What took you so damn long?" Contacts asked as he eyed Specs' new prize.

"Oh, I was a tad sidetracked, my apologies," Specs replied. "I met those two other newcomers from earlier. They're staying the night at the inn, and I guess they had already been asleep for some time and I had woken them up by accident. That lady, Tear, is actually quite charming, if a bit humorless."

"Oh yeah?" Contacts said, poking the fire again.

"Yes, it went something like this..." Specs began.

* * *

><p><em>Inn<em>

_Grocer's Hamlet of Engeve_

_Northern Rugnica; Malkuth territory_

_Lunaday, Rem-Decan 24, ND2018_

_A moment ago_

* * *

><p>Specs walked into the inn, after hearing from some of the locals that there was a weapons merchant in town that evening, and discovered a somewhat portly, balding man at the counter with a small inventory of items laying against the wall beside him.<p>

The man wore light traveling robes, and over the top of that, a thick breastplate, which Specs guessed was made of a heavier, inferior-quality metal, and was crafted by a fool, given the number of warped hammer marks Specs could see - the result of an inexperienced hand, or one that was in a rush to make a market's profit. On his left arm was strapped a small, scuffed-up blue buckler, perhaps in such condition because it was a hand-me-down, or because the man had no clue how to buff scratches out of a shield's surface; and in his right hand was a large spear, which was showing its age from non-use and poor daily maintenance.

Specs desperately wished to inform the man that if he was thinking of defending himself on the road, he would need far superior arms and armaments than those with which he had equipped himself, but for the sake of maintaining a healthy salesman-customer relationship, decided against it. Not everybody wished to be informed of just how dangerous the roads could be, even to professional mercenary tacticians who had spent many years on many battlefields until an untimely decapitation ended their career, even though Specs knew it would only serve to benefit them in the end.

The ex-mercenary wandered over to the merchant and tapped him on the shoulder, catching his attention.

"Sorry if I interrupted you, sir, but I couldn't help but notice that you seemed to have wares that, I'm assuming, you wish to sell off," Specs said amiably, his speech noticeably more gentlemanly than it usually was.

What he hadn't told anybody at the time was that the reason he came off as such a fool was due to a unique "gift" of his that allowed him to use his imagination as storage space for any items of his discretion - the drawback, unfortunately, being that his intellectual qualities were greatly sapped whenever he did so. And like how Shades was a gun-collecting maniac, Specs typically carried a great deal of swords in his head, so he was a massive idiot most of the time. He was actually a genius in his own right, whenever his head was clear to allow him to focus properly, and for the sake of making this purchase, he had decided to leave all his collected swords back at camp.

The merchant blinked, and then a smile spread across his face as he turned to face Specs in full. "Yes, sir! All for very reasonable prices, as well, if you happen to be in the market to purchase," he said.

"In fact, I am! I have a hobby of collecting swords, and I saw that you seem to have a number of reproductions of a certain style on hand. It looks like a style that I don't happen to have in my collection, and I was hoping I might be able to change that," Specs explained.

"Well, perhaps I can be of assistance there, sir," the merchant said, taking the hilt of one of the swords in his hand and offering it to Specs for inspection.

Specs took the blade gingerly, and felt an unfortunate flaw immediately - the lacquered wooden sheathe was not flat to preserve the blade's integrity. It was wavy and warped, which could only spell eventual disaster for the weapon encased within. Not to mention, the hilt felt bumpy and heavy, far more so than the design would allow if forged by a professional. It was as if some of the slag hadn't properly been chipped out of the metal, and had been allowed to pack on more weight as the forging process continued.

Sliding the sword itself out of the sheathe, it was all Specs could do to keep from openly wincing at what he saw in front of the merchant. The sheathe's waviness was now entirely understandable, because the sword was worse. It was clear that whoever was responsible for hammering the blade out was quite a bit more brutal in some places than they needed to be, and the rapid heating and cooling process had only made those errors more pronounced. Worse yet, the edge was chipped. Badly. In fact, there was no pronounced point at all on the blade - though rounded ends were certainly as lethal as pointed ones, when properly sharpened, what Specs saw was clearly signs of abuse, and not clever design. Not only was the tip gone, it looked like it had been snapped off against a tree.

The problems didn't stop there; the flat of the blade was scratched up from improper hammer strikes and popped slag pockets during the forging process. Had it been due to engraving or etching, Specs would have forgiven it, as his own Kewl Sward was etched along the flat with a swordsman's prayer, but all Specs could feel looking at this blade was a distinct desire to hunt down the moron who had crafted it and strangle them. And Specs noticed that the blade was shaky - the hilt had not been properly secured around it.

Specs was internally disgusted, but dared not show it to the merchant, who couldn't have known unless he was a smithy himself. Perhaps the ex-mercenary couldn't do better work, since he had only ever been an apprentice, but he certainly couldn't do any _worse_ than this, short of snapping the sword in two and stomping on the broken pieces repeatedly.

But, it was still a new sword Specs didn't have in his collection, which meant that his heart wouldn't rest if he neglected to take it. And it wasn't as though he hadn't collected similarly poor-grade weapons over the course of his many adventures. If nothing else, it could serve as a showpiece for a case study into the quality curve of swordsmith workmanship according to experience and timeframe, and goodness knew Specs was always up for improving his knowledge of the craft. Maybe he could even fix the poor blade up in the future, if he was of a mind to undertake the daunting task. So, regardless of his thoughts, he made the purchase, dropping the appropriate amount of coins into the man's open hand.

Very good, sir. I hope you and I may do business again in the future," the merchant said pleasantly.

_Just as soon as you cut ties with whoever the heathen was that sold you this sin of proper metalwork_, Specs thought. What his mouth said, however, was, "Yes, I hope so as well. Thank you."

Specs heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Tear standing in the doorway leading back to the bedroom, noticeably disheveled and tired-eyed from having just been woken up from a somewhat restless sleep. It seemed to take her a moment of squinting before she finally recognized who she was looking at, which then woke her up more completely. Specs could see Luke on a bed behind her, out like a light.

_Honestly, he's probably more tolerable that way_, Specs thought.

"Oh, hey, it's you again! Sorry, I didn't wake you up, did I?" Specs asked in as friendly a tone as he could muster. It wasn't that he disliked Tear, given that he didn't know a thing about her - but God forbid he offend a tired woman that he may have accidentally dragged out of dreamland. He had been on the receiving end of that hellstorm once before with Glasses, and didn't wish to repeat that particular death. On a scale of "mean name-calling" to "shot her pet dog in cold blood," pissing off a sleep-deprived woman was just under "on her period and not about take any measure of shit from anybody," in Specs' mind.

Tear quietly shook her head. "No, I was already having trouble sleeping."

She didn't outright say as such, but Specs still interpreted that as it being his fault.

"What are you doing here? I thought you said you and your group would be camping outside of town for the night?" Tear asked.

"Oh, that. We are, it's just that I heard tell about a weapons merchant hanging about, and I happen to enjoy collecting swords, so I thought I'd drop in real quick-like and pick up a souvenir for the road, that's all," Specs explained. He had shifted back to the manner of speech he recalled Tear hearing from him in order to maintain appearances - not because he feared any negative repercussions, but because he didn't wish to subject Tear to quite that heavy a dose of mood whiplash while she was still mostly asleep. The merchant behind him made a quizzical face at the sudden change of tone from his once nobility-sounding manner of speaking to that of a commoner, but made no comment about it.

"Collecting swords? Why?" Tear asked curiously.

"Oh, just because I can. The only sword I use is the one on my belt," Specs said, tapping the hilt of his Kewl Sward affectionately. "My old master and I forged this beauty with our own hands, and it's served me well for countless years. I couldn't possibly trust my life to any other weapon, so instead, I just gather them up to satisfy my interest in swords."

Tear glanced at the Kewl Sward and momentarily looked taken aback by it.

Understandably so, too - the blade, though unseen from within its thick leather and fur-lined sheathe, was an expertly-crafted, double-edged steel piece lovingly engraved with a humble prayer of good fortune for the swordsman who wielded it, decorated in silver, and in the direct sunlight, it shone like a mirror before the foes against which it was brandished. Further down, the steel hilt guard was fashioned by artisan hands in the image of a pair of unfurled archangel wings, caressed by a layer of gold; and where the wings met in the center, a flawless, blood-red ruby sat embedded: a priceless king upon a lavish throne. The hilt, itself, was designed to fit Specs' hand perfectly, as was his wish when he presented the idea to his master, and as with the hilt guard above it, it was decorated in gold. High quality leather wrappings covered the hilt for ease of grip, and around the pommel, small sapphires and emeralds were embedded in a distinct pattern, with the rounded head being topped by a single, brilliant diamond. If the sword should ever find itself in the unfortunate position of being on the market, it was almost guaranteed that the price would be well into the millions.

Which was why Specs never let the masterpiece out of his sight, come hell or high water, on pain of a gruesome end to those who would try and steal it from him. Contacts had learned this the hard way, when Specs had quite literally beaten him to death after discovering that the thief had tried to make off with it. By no small coincidence, Contacts had never made such an attempt again afterwards.

Tear snapped out of her trance, and Specs pretended he hadn't noticed for the sake of not making the conversation anymore awkward than it already was.

"Well, it must be quite the weapon if you're willing to put so much faith in it. But the weapon, no matter how well-made, is only as powerful as the one who wields it," Tear said, pausing at each word to try and find the continuation of the thought she didn't have.

"Yeah, no, I'm well aware of that. My old captain used to beat the ever-loving hell out of me for neglecting my sparring practice," Specs said.

Tear made a small noise to show that she was still listening, but Specs could tell that she was starting to drift off into her imagination while standing up, so he quickly decided to end the conversation.

"Well, I'd best be getting back before all those other assholes start crying for momma because I'm not there to tuck them into bed. It was nice talking to you," Specs said, making for the front door.

Tear nodded slowly, then turned and wandered back to her bed. The merchant had already refocused back on his business with the innkeeper, so Specs quietly slipped out and made his way back to camp.

* * *

><p>"...And then I returned here, and you were all making ludicrous small talk about me having a romantic evening with a sword," Specs concluded.<p>

"Huh. Truth told, Tear didn't exactly seem the conversationalist type when we met her back at Rose's place," Glasses remarked.

"In truth, she probably only gave me the time of night because she needed something to help her fall asleep properly, and I was boring enough to provide that outlet," Specs said.

"You certainly are boring when you get to talking up a blue streak," Sports Shades said dismissively, not really paying the conversation any mind as he flipped through the magazine, chuckling rudely at the pictures within.

"Well, _thank you_ for that," Specs said, not really offended at the remark, as he dropped into his seat (which had "mysteriously" been moved away from his tent, which was beside Shades, and placed between Glasses' and Bifocals' tents by "someone"). "So, we died horrifically - some of us twice - and were then arrested on false charges, which were dropped within the same hour. Pretty eventful first day, I feel," he mused.

"Oh yeah. Even the shit you, me and Shades get up to is pretty tame by comparison," Contacts agreed.

"Tame for which of the three parties, exactly?" Shades asked, meticulously cleaning her guns.

"I dunno, tame for you, I guess? And holy hell, you're gonna be at that all night," Contacts replied.

"No I'm not. You'd be surprised how efficient I am when it comes to my babies," Shades said. "And bullshit, it's tame for me. Just because we have a bad habit of getting separated a lot doesn't mean that I don't run into my bloody share of problems along the way. I'm just apparently better at handling them than you two are."

"She's quite on the mark, in that regard," Specs said.

"Yeah, fair point, I guess," Contacts replied, poking the fire once more.

"OF COURSE IT IS A FAIR POINT; THE GUN-MAIDEN COULD EASILY BRING ABOUT A NEW VISION OF RAGNAROK FOR EACH OF US IN TURN IF SHE SO CHOSE," Monocle bellowed.

"Damn it, if you're not going to lower your voice, stop talking! There are people sleeping in the village next door, man!" Specs hissed.

Monocle scribbled a message on a piece of paper he had in his lap and held it up: "Sorry."

"Your handwriting is atrocious," Contacts noted.

Monocle flipped the paper over and drew an extended middle finger on it, which he brandished in Contacts' general direction.

"What? It's the truth, man," Contacts said.

Monocle got up out of his seat, wandered over to Contacts, and shoved the middle finger right in his face, which Contacts snatched out of his hand irritably and threw in the fire. In retaliation, Monocle threw up a pair of middle fingers as he walked backwards back to his seat.

"Wow, _that's_ mature," Contacts grumbled.

"You're not exactly in any position to talk," Glasses remarked.

Book Specs peeked over the top of his book at Glasses and adjusted his glasses with a raised eyebrow.

"According to Booky, neither are you," Specs translated.

"Hey! That's not true, and you know it!" Glasses said, pouting.

Book Specs adjusted his glasses again, jerking his head in Bifocals' direction.

He says it isn't true for Bifocals, who you happen to not be," Specs translated again.

"What? How am I anymore mature than anybody else here?" Bifocals asked, looking up from her little project - which was an attempt to make an apple gel into a medi-goodroid.

"Probably because you're so wrapped up in your work that you hardly ever talk," Shades replied. To Contact's shock, she appeared to already be half-done with her cleaning somehow. (In truth, she had been at it for several years. She simply super-boosted her speed using a time-slowing device she snagged from Bifocals' lab once, and came back to the present to see if she was missing anything important. Her brain was screaming about how impossible it all was, but for the sake of cutting the time of her little chore down as much as possible, she dared not voice her objections, as Bifocals' inventions had a nasty habit of suddenly self-destructing whenever somebody tried to introduce logic to their core mechanics, and Shades had no interest in having to engage an enraged wrench wench in open combat with only half her fully-assembled firepower on hand to retaliate.)

"That is not more mature, that is simply involved with other matters," Bifocals objected.

"Why are you getting so up in arms over a compliment?" Sports Shades asked from behind his magazine. "Shit, lady, just take the flowers and wave to the crowd, it's not a big deal."

Bifocals blinked in confusion. "But I do not have any flow-"

"It's called a fucking analogy, look it up," Sports Shades deadpanned.

"Oh," Bifocals said, feeling somewhat foolish for not knowing this when she first heard the sentence.

Glasses yawned, then stood up. "Well, I'm getting sleepy, so I'm just gonna turn in for the night," she said.

"Yes, I feel that we should be thinking about doing the same," Specs replied.

"Fine by me," Shades said. She was now completely done with her chore thanks to Bifocals' device, and all but the guns she could carry on her person had been warped back to Bifocals' lab using her powers. Technically, her powers allowed her to fashion firearms out of thin air, but her imagination was somewhat limited in that regard, so she mostly kept it at summoning real guns.

"Yeah, I'm turning in, too. If I try and figure out how Shades did all that in like thirty minutes, my head's gonna explode," Contacts said.

Shades allowed herself a cheeky grin from inside her tent, where she knew nobody would notice.

Everybody else gradually migrated to their tents as well, and before long, everybody had conked out for the night.

* * *

><p><em>Auldrant<em>

_Northern Rugnica; Malkuth territory_

_Designated camping spot; near the Grocer's Hamlet of Engeve_

_Ifritday, Rem-Decan 25, ND2018_

* * *

><p>"Well, this is quite the little set-up you have here."<p>

Specs, along with Contacts and Shades, had woken up early to stoke the coals of the dying fire, and wasn't fully awake when he heard the familiar voice; when he turned to see Colonel Curtiss flanked by about twenty Malkuth foot soldiers, however, he was suddenly very wide awake.

Well, isn't this a surprise! Good morning, Colonel, fancy meeting you here!" Specs said. He was still tired, and so he failed to cover up his intellectual speech properly for the sake of maintaining appearances. Then, looking about at the sour troops, he said, "Might I ask about the welcoming party?"

Jade seemed momentarily taken aback by Specs' sudden shift in tone from yesterday. Of course, he didn't know about Specs' secret, and it was impossible to make the connection between his mind and the large amount of swords around his tent without that information. But, he did find those swords an interesting point to bring up for another matter.

"You seem to be quite well-armed for just a mere group of thrill-seekers. How many swords do you wager you've brought along with you, alone?" Jade asked, glancing at the assorted weaponry about the camp.

"What? Sir, those are simply for show. The only blade of mine that sees action is the one on my belt," Specs replied. Already, he was starting to understand the Colonel's intentions... but perhaps humoring him would drag out a more complete explanation.

"And it seems you have taken extra precautions in your own defense, if your tent there is any indicator. Almost as though you were expecting your camp to come under attack?" Jade surmised.

"One can never be too certain," Specs replied.

"Oh? And I assume that a fonic barrier around your camp that happens to be powerful enough to repulse several highly-trained soldiers of the Malkuth military, and cause them to incur injuries, is also just being sure?" Jade asked, gesturing to five soldiers who were a slight bit more banged up than their brothers-in-arms.

"That would be Booky's handiwork, not mine," Specs clarified. "I've no interest in magic. My strength lies in the blade."

"I'll be sure to make a note of that. It also occurs to me that you were all treating the food theft situation in Engeve with a noticeable lack of interest. For a village as small as Engeve, this is a serious situation that isn't to be joked about," Jade continued.

"Well, hey, we cleared it up that we weren't responsible, so why's it gotta continue to be our problem?" Contacts asked.

"What? I had planned to investigate the matter of the cheagles stealing food from the villagers today, what is this not-our-problem nonsense I hear you saying?" Specs asked.

"You're not guilty for that crime, that I will concede. But the case did bring to light that you, Contacts, are a professional thief. Why would an innocent group of adventurers looking to aid some poor, robbed villagers need the help of a thief, of all people, in their journey, hmm?" Jade inquired.

"Contacts has been with us for years, we didn't hire the twat. Trust me, we'd have broken that contract early if that were the case. Also, I love how you're insinuating that we're spies," Shades said in a flat monotone.

"Yes, I was catching wind of that myself," Specs said.

Jade sighed deeply. "I suppose there's no further point in building up to what you already know. So, I'll simply say it as it is - there were two reported cases of hyperresonance in Malkuth territory - one in Tataroo Valley, the night before, traced back to the kingdom of Kimlasca-Lanvaldear; and one here, outside of Engeve, yesterday afternoon, which we're still trying to map back to the point of origin. That man, Book Specs, had an air about him of a seventh fonist, who are the primary cause of hyperresonances. By your own admission, Specs, you are a mercenary. It's quite possible that Kimlasca would hire a mercenary band under the aid of a seventh fonist to try and cover their tracks. It wasn't their soldiers, therefore it wasn't their doing.

"And quite the band you are, too - apart from Book Specs, who holds people in great disdain, your ranks consist of a veritable titan of a man with a distinct love of battle; a thief who openly admits that he considers food theft a petty job not worth his efforts; a pair of information-gathering experts who seem to lack any empathy towards their peers; an axewoman who is quite a fair deal stronger than she looks, considering her weapon of choice; a scientist of noticeable talent, and perhaps more than that; and an egotistical braggart who shows little concern for the hardships of others as compared to his own. And you, Specs, seem to wear two separate faces - you play the part of a fool to get on people's good sides, and when they turn their backs, out comes a man who is clearly much smarter than he chooses to let on. Not to mention that you seem to hold the authority of command over this group. And judging by the care you put into setting up your tent and maintaining all your weaponry, I'd go as far as to wager that you've seen some military action in your time. A man as smart as you may even have once played a role in guiding battles to victory. That's a dangerous quality in a man, as well as a valuable one. I imagine if Kimlasca-Lanvaldear were looking for mercenaries, you'd be high on their list. Were I an unsuspecting civilian, I'd be quite terrified of you all. Who knows what you're truly capable of? And considering the horrible mess near the assumed area of the hyperressonance's energy field, I'd say you've been busy already."

Jade's glare turned dark. "Entering Engeve and getting yourself arrested for a crime you had no part in may have been a fluke, but I assure you now, with the evidence I've inferred from our brief meeting, this arrest is not."

"...Okay, but can I just ask - Did I hear you say something about emtwo /eminformation-gathering experts, just now?" Shades inquired.

"Why don't we go and meet him, so that you can see for yourself?" Jade suggested. Then, he turned to his men. "Take them."

One by one, the other members of the Co. were dragged from their tents, complaining loudly and still in their nightclothes, were relieved of their weapons, and were restrained at blade-point.

"Well, shit," Sports Shades said. "What's this, the second time in as many days? What trumped up charges are we being taken in on now?"

"Apparently, we're mercenary spies for the kingdom of Kimlasca-Lanvaldear now," Specs replied with a shrug.

"Kimlasca-Lan-who-what? Uh, if I ever chose to lower myself to the scum-sucking level of a spy for anybody, I'd probably find a guy whose name didn't sound quite so stupid," Sports Shades chuckled.

"Take them to the Tartarus and lock them up. We have business to attend to in the forest to the north," Jade ordered.

"The Tartarus? Why would they name their vehicles after Greek symbols of Hell?" Bifocals asked groggily.

"Beats me," Glasses replied.


End file.
